


Day 4: Gore

by Aichi



Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Body Modification, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Gender-neutral Reader, Gore, Needles, Other, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26813818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: Direct continuation of day three. Chaos Breaker goes about his work.
Relationships: Chaos Breaker Dragon/Reader
Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951588
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Day 4: Gore

**Author's Note:**

> This is. Worse. than the previous one. A lot. It's kind of gross! Sorry! Somehow I'm too much of a baby for horror movies or games but this shit is just. Mm.
> 
> Anyway all the same warnings as day three still apply. ""Consensual"" But Not Safe Or Sane (or even Risk Aware), please use extreme suspension of disbelief in all your "kidnapped and experimented on by alien dragons" fantasies.
> 
> But yes this is a direct continuation of day three's prompt, which I guess you don't HAVE to read, but maybe you should.

With your neck restrained firmly against the table, you’re unable to lift your head to watch as Chaos Breaker Dragon brings his scalpel to your flesh. There’s a sharp _prick_ on your chest around the midpoint of your sternum, a tiny pearl of moisture budding forth, and then a white-hot line carved straight down your torso with practiced precision.

With no drugs or tubes to stop you this time, you scream.

You’ve dreamed this scene, this moment, dozens or maybe even hundreds of times, stretching out lazily on your bed and trailing a fingernail down your chest as you imagine him carving you open. You’ve imagined yourself howling as blades and claws sank into you, imagined your body heaving and sobbing on the operating table as you took it all, bore it all, for _him_. But the pain is _real_ now, so real, _too_ real, and the metal rings around your limbs don’t budge no matter how much you thrash against them. As your flesh splits, you scream again and again until your throat is raw and dry, your torso jerking violently in an instinctive, futile effort to escape the blade.

“Careful~” the dragon says. “If you struggle too much, I might slip~”

Despite his warning, it feels like he’s cut a perfect line straight down the centre of your chest, your sticky, clammy skin peeling open like a ripened piece of fruit. There’s no doubt that he’s just toying with you; he must have plenty of experience dealing with less willing subjects. Still, you grit your teeth, and try to pretend that your chest isn’t burning with white static, that that same static isn’t already choking at the edges of your consciousness and threatening to drag you into its depths.

The pinprick of an IV being attached to your arm is so slight, you barely even notice it, but you _do_ notice the fluid as it starts to pump into you. It’s cool under your skin, a mountain stream trickling between the tense, stiffened rocks of your flesh, and while it doesn’t _reduce_ the pain, it draws you away from it a little, pulling you onto an island of clarity amidst the burning fog crowding your thoughts.

Chaos Breaker cuts two more lines in your chest, each stretching diagonally away from the first, and you ride out the pain on your little island until he’s finished what you realize is a Y-shaped incision, marking you like a corpse about to be autopsied.

Carefully replacing the scalpel on his tray, he turns and begins tapping at a glowing panel on one of the nearby machines. Tilting your head to the side, you confirm — for all the good it does you — that the scalpel is dripping with your blood, red droplets scattered haphazardly over the table.

 _My blood_. The words flounder in your mind, and seem to slip away from you even as you try to grasp them. You try to reach out and touch the blood drops, to confirm that they're real, that _any_ of this is real, but you can’t, you realize; not because of your restraints, but because even your fingers won’t respond to you anymore. A sea of burning, empty white separates you from your body and from the world, and you can’t even turn your head back to follow Chaos Breaker as he moves around you. The quiet squeaking of another cart being wheeled over to you is the only clue you get to his activities.

Soon, a claw plucks at your eyelid, holding it open so he can inspect your wide, frozen pupils. “Just a little paralytic agent,” he explains, gleefully. “It’s ve~ry important that you keep still for this next part, you see.”

Apparently, the IV also contains something that stops you from simply bleeding out, because despite the warm, damp pool you can feel forming under your back, you remain conscious and aware and _alive_ — even though it feels like you’re viewing your own body from behind a pane of thick, frosted glass.

In the corner of your vision, something silver and chrome hums to life; you’d been too afraid when you entered to acknowledge many of the medbay’s finer details, but you identify it as a mechanical arm attached to one of the machines. Its tip is adorned with several rotating heads featuring needles, scalpels, and — the sight of it chills your blood, and the sound of it whirring to life even more so — a small, circular saw blade. Chaos Breaker strides back into your line of sight, and then out again, still working away at the machines. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.

You want to scream again — or cry, whimper, ask what he’s doing, _anything_ — but your jaw hangs slack and stiff, a trail of drool trickling sideways down your cheek.

“Alright, time to get started!” he says, finally, cheerily, like he’s introducing a child to a fun new game. “The paralysis should have all set in by now. Of course, I get some subjects who need more than one dose, so just scream if you feel like you’re dying.” He laughs, the hollow sound echoing off the sterile walls. “Although, don’t scream _too_ much, because repeated exposure _does_ have a tendency of making the effects permanent. I wouldn’t want to have to throw away someone as interesting as you so soon.”

He moves out of your vision again, and a moment later there’s another prick, a pull, and your chest opens up, flaps of skin peeling open like the pages of a book. A blade works into you again, not merely cutting but _tearing_ you open this time, and the water around your island of safety churns violently, lapping at your feet as pain singes the corners of your awareness.

The whirr of the saw blade grows louder, and metal glints in the corner of your eye as it moves into position. Vibrations rattle your ribcage as it makes contact, backed by the harsh grinding of metal against bone. A bright white light shines down from somewhere in the ceiling, and the paralytic, you realize, does very little to shield you from the icy grip of _fear_.

Dully, you register a hitch in the vibrations, the saw blade shifting from one rib to the next. Somehow, you feel so much more exposed than ever, even more than standing naked in front of an entire crew of Star-vaders, and it seems a stupid thing to care about when the dragon’s claws are tugging at your flesh like shards of burning ice, holding you open for the saw to do its work. You try again to turn your head, to cry, to twitch even a single finger, but your body is no longer your own.

Of course it isn’t. You gave it to _him_.

_This is what you wanted, isn’t it?_

You’re not sure if you’re asking yourself, or if he’s speaking to you.

All you can do is huddle behind the protection of the drugs he’s giving you, begging for the fear not to grip your heart so tightly, because it _hurts_ in a way that paralysis can’t stop, and because as he opens you up, shears the last rib out of the way and exposes your organs, he’s going to _see_ the way your heart is hammering, and he’s going to know even more than he already does what kind of a person you are. The kind that begs for _this_ , for pain and terror and complete, utter loss of control.

Another, smaller blade works into you again, and something else goes in along with it, something that attaches to your flesh with a vicious pinch that you feel even though the anesthesia. You can feel the brush of something trailing from it; wires or a length of tubing, perhaps, but your scrambled brain has no time to wonder as the blade nips at your exposed tissue, cleanly severing whatever it was aiming for, and a rush of blood flows into your chest cavity, like a sink being filled with warm water.

Chaos Breaker’s claws pull back, and bring his bloody prize into your vision; red drips and splatters against the table as he holds what you slowly, horrifyingly realize is _your own heart_ in front of your eyes. All the blood vessels attached to it have been neatly snipped away, but it pulses faintly in his claws as if it were still attached to you.

There's nothing for your terror to grip now. You feel shockingly empty.

“Cute, isn’t it?” His voice is so far away. You’re sinking into the white-hot ocean and he’s calling to you from the surface, telling you about how you don’t need that old thing anyway, not when you’re in his hands. He’ll put it to good use elsewhere, now just hold still — he snickers at that, of course — as he gets you a nice new one.

You don’t have any choice, even ignoring the restraints and drugs. Whatever he plugged into your chest a moment ago must be the only thing keeping you alive right now. The machines behind your table hum with electricity, and you can almost feel the sound in your bones, in your veins as if it were your own lifeblood.

A clatter from the other side of the table announces the dragon collecting something from one of his trays, and then he’s back at work inside you again, but you feel so distant from it all, your motionless limbs completely unable to lift the weight of inevitability from your chest.

There’s no going back from here. There was no going back the moment you stepped foot on this ship, of course, and you knew that, but—

 _Tick_.

Your train of thought snaps like a broken rubber band as the sound stutters through you.

 _Tick_.

A sharp stab of pain — _pain_ , you’re almost excited to feel _real, raw pain_ — shoots through your tissue, followed by several more, swift and rhythmic, then a stretch, a pinch, and a sudden, all-encompassing burning rush of torturous relief as something slots into place inside you. You groan, and it’s little more than a dry, stilted gasp that leaves your throat throbbing, but it’s a _real sound_.

 _Tick_.

“An almost perfect dosage, I see. Just hold on for a moment while I stitch you back up.”

_Tick tick tick tick tick—_

“Looks like it’s all working. Excellent.”

The telltale prick of a needle works its way up your torso, but the sting of it is practically a blessing after everything else, a reassurance that you’re alive, that you can feel again. To be sure, you twitch a finger, and almost sob at the tapping sound your nail makes against the tabletop.

 _Tick_.

More injections, interspersed at regular intervals up the line of stitches.

 _Tick_.

The noise is quiet, almost imperceptible, but it’s impossible to miss the vibration that accompanies it, the pulse that ripples through you almost as if it was a part of you, as if—

As if it was your own heartbeat.

 _Tick tick tick_.

“What did you do to me?” you croak.

“A little upgrade. Call it a housewarming gift. I hear those are popular with humans. I want you to last a long time, after all, and your kind break down _so_ easily.” He laughs, his armored chest heaving, glinting in the harsh light still shining from above. “Your hearts always seem to be the first thing to go, so I devised an artificial replacement, and you get to be my lucky first attempt! If it all works out, you’ll be more resilient, and I get a nicer toy. It’s a win for both of us.”

A claw trails down your face, leaving a wet streak of blood. If he were anyone else, you might have called it a loving caress.

“Don’t forget,” he adds, “to keep hold of that hope that brought you here~”

_Tick_.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought there would be a lot more actual horny stuff in these prompts sorry. It's turning into more of just an excuse to be silly and weird. I promise I'll learn what sex is one of these days. The same day I learn how to stop making these three times longer than intended.


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